Job Description
by Konnie-chan
Summary: How low would you sink for money? Remuscentric Posted under Humor because better to laugh about it than cry, right?


_AN: This fic is completely cathartic, and probably most of you will not be able to fully appreciate from where I'm coming from. I actually hope that you can't, heh, heh. I beg everyone not to take offence in by this. It is purely based on personal experience._

_Disclaimer: Harry Potter is not mine, and I'm not making money out of this._

**JOB DESCRIPTION**

"Thank you so much for visiting M.S.I., My name is Remus and I will be aiding you today." His face set in a ridiculously perky and utterly fake smile, he straightened in his seat, picked up his quill and looked at the plum, toad like face that had just appeared on his fireplace. "How can I be of assistance?"

Remus J. Lupin had never been too interested in the economy. He had enough trouble making end's meet to think about the market, trade profit or anything of the sort. The wizarding community, however, was not exempt of such things. As he had learnt from Bill one night dining at the Burrow, Magical-British currency, unlike its muggle counterpart, had all but hit bottom. What with Voldemort's return and the Ministry's instability, one hundred Galleons wouldn't get you a haircut in the continent. But that, as Weasley explained, was not necessarily a bad thing. Tourism, one of Britain's main incomes, had certainly been hindered, and Molly had a fit every time she came back from the grocery store, but the cheap currency meant more opportunities for foreign investors and, subsequently, more jobs for the middle class. It all sounded too complicated for him and he had all but forgotten about the conversation by the time he'd return to his dingy one bedroom flat. Nearly two months later, though, while skimming through the classified section of the Daily Prophet, one big, colourful add had brought it all back.

**"American Company seeks energetic young men and women for a wonderful job opportunity! If you're driven to success, with average knowledge in emergency spelling-reversal and you're willing to explore your hidden talents at interpersonal abilities, this is the chance for you. No experience required!"**

The pay was more than decent, the hours flexible and the add claimed there were fifty positions to be filled, which meant they wouldn't be too picky. So, without expecting much, he'd sent them his resume. He'd also sent his resume applying for janitor in an owlery, It was just routine. In hindsight, anyone who considered a resume such as his- he didn't even bothered to embellish it anymore- was a little too desperate. But he had been thrilled when, just a few days after owling it, he received a reply, and an interview.

Magical Solutions Incorporated, M.S.I. for short, as it was displayed in gaudy golden letters over the door, was a rapidly growing wand company. They produced them in mass, having several factories across the globe. While mass produced wands were certainly lower in quality than handmade wands, it definitively lowered their cost, making them more accessible to the large wizarding population of America. They also came with a guaranty, and an innovating system of costumer service via floo network. That's where he came in. After two weeks of intense training, he was a new addition to the team of valuable wizards and witches striving each day to make the costumer's life an easy life, or, at least, that's what his gaudy golden robes read on the front.

The friendly work environment that had been suggested by the awfully attentive RP rep during his interview, was not friendlier than what he'd expected from a pack of hungry wolves waiting to gauge your eyes out, no pun intended. And he was sure the accommodations had to be breaking every regulation about health and wellness in the workplace. The room, because the office was nothing more than a big, low-ceilinged room, was dark and ominous, packed with fireplaces arranged neatly in endless rows. The temperature in there was suffocating, the noise- a constant, loud mingle of voices- maddening. The pay, however, was more than he could hope for.

He was presently arguing- albeit politely and always with that infuriating smile plastered on his face- with an old witch who had thought it a great idea to give his eight year old grandson a brand new wand for Christmas. Oh, by the way, he was working on new year's eve. Yes.

"Listen to me, sweetheart," The woman waved a finger at him in reprimand. "I don't think you understand a word I'm saying! My little Keith's face is purple. Purple! What am I supposed to tell his mother, eh?"

He should have known. Everything had sounded too good. One week into his training, he had been approached by the project manager to inquire about his werewolf status and, rather than calling security on him, the man's eyes had glinted gleefully when he'd replied in the affirmative. He should have backed away then, should have realised. Instead, he had gullibly believed that Americans were not into the purity of blood craziness, that it made no difference what he was. He could understand now, how his condition would be an asset for them.

"I'm sorry, sir, but I cannot give you a refund if you sat on your wand by accident." Even with only the gentleman's face in sight, Remus could see his predicament. He shifted every now and then, grimacing painfully.

Only a week. He had only been on the job for a week, and he was already reacting to it physically. There was a dull, ever present ache in his temples. His eyes were becoming too sensitive to the light and his hands had begun shaking at the oddest of moments. He couldn't sleep without dreaming about floo powder and spelling back addresses, the shrilling noise of the beep that announced a new arrival when he hadn't yet wrapped up his notes on the last. Remus had always had enough material for nightmares in his life, but this was just ridiculous.

"Where are y'all located, huh? I ain't getting a word y'all saying! Are y'all in India?"

It was hell. He had died and gone to hell. That had to be it. Aside from having to daily endure the blatant assassination of the English language, of which he had always been nothing if not respectful- as harsh as it sounded to him, he had always accepted it as a valid dialect, had almost found it interesting to study- and aside from slowly starting to hate humanity in general, what Remus hated the most was that he could not bring himself to quit. Ninety percent of his co-workers were fresh out of Hogwarts, no more than kids, and they seemed to be able to take it. He had faced painful monthly transformations for most his life, had seen many a loved one die, and had faced the forces of evil without hesitation on countless occasions. He could certainly take the pressure. He could. He had to. They were no better than him.

He guarded his station to prevent another entry and stood up hesitantly, gazing at the far end of his row, where a small, mousy haired girl with glasses that would rival Percy's any day and dimples as deep as moon craters, sat a little higher from the rest. She was eighteen and, yes, his supervisor. The girl met his gaze and frowned.

"Remsy, dear, why aren't you taking costumers!" She asked at the top of her lungs. Remsy… er, Remus cringed, at the nickname as well as the nervous glances everyone on his row threw at him. The girl might have been tiny, but she was loud, and loud is not good when you're trying to understand what an irate costumer is mumbling at you.

He would have answered in kind. Merlin knew he felt like screaming at her. Instead, out of sympathy for his co-workers, he opted for lifting his hands and mimicking breaking something, imagining it was her neck. The girl looked at a large crystal panel in front of her, where he could see infinite green lines flashing through, representing the floo network, and shook her head.

"Be a dear and take one more, Remsy, hun! Then you can take your break, ok?" she yelled back.

He sat back slowly, dully, but did not open his fireplace. He had been at it three hours straight, he was hungry and frustrated and his head hurt. His vision became blurry all of the sudden. He wanted to scream, to tear the stupid robes off of him and rage like a madman, bring mayhem to that damned place. He wanted his bloody break!

His vision cleared and, with it, his thoughts. Taking a deep breath, Remus stood back up, put his quill and parchment aside neatly and carefully removed his outer-robes. His immediate neighbour, a young girl with a perpetually scared expression hidden under quickly-greying curly brown locks, studied him carefully, the dread on her face more evident than usual. Smart girl, that one.

Ever so slowly, he made his way to the end of the row. He could feel his supervisor's eyes on him, but he didn't turn to look at her, walking right past her, into the main aisle instead. She stood up hurriedly, followed him on his way to the exit and beat him to it, standing between Remus and his freedom with arms stretched and a stern look on her face.

"Where do you think you're going, Lupin?" She barked, any trace of sugar-cote gone from her voice.

"Home," he replied simply, calmly, still avoiding to look at her, lest he decided ripping her head off her scrawny little neck was actually a good idea.

"You have still three more hours to go!" She was not very bright.

He tried to walk around her, but she was faster. His hands went to his face, willing himself to stay calm.

"Let me through," His voice suddenly resembled a growl.

"I'll sanction you if you leave!"

He couldn't. He just couldn't. If he had to choose between taking one more call and being cruciated into oblivion by the Dark Lord himself, he'd gladly choose the latter. His brain was half gooey by that point, anyway. He opened his eyes then, and focused them fixedly on the girl, who took an automatic step back in fright. He placed one firm hand on each her pointy shoulders and hissed: "I said, Let. Me. Through."

The girl shrunk away and Remus made a point of bumping a little into her on his way out.

No, he decided, being broke was definitively not that bad.

**FIN**


End file.
